


A House Still Standing

by Nanoochka



Series: Mating Games challenge fills [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Car Sex, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Fuck Or Die, Future Fic, M/M, Mating Games 2014, Mildly Dubious Consent, Verbal Consent, fandom tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanoochka/pseuds/Nanoochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you explain the concept of "fuck or die" to the supernaturally uninitiated?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A House Still Standing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sixth and final challenge for [Mating Games 2014](mating-games.livejournal.com) (fandom tropes). Congrats to my fellow Team Spark members on the landslide win!

“Okay,” Stiles says, and he’s fumbling at his fly even as his pain rushes to catch up with the burning itch under his skin. His hands are eight steps ahead of him; they barely got the back door of the police cruiser open, and he’s already flinging himself backward across the seat, shimmying his jeans down his hips as he goes. “ _What are you_? You are way too calm and collected about this to not be some kind of creature of the night.”

Deputy Parrish’s eyes are wide and green under the dome light as he stares back at Stiles. He looks freaked but on the ball. His shirt’s unbuttoned and his holster is discarded on the front seat.

“I’ve been here too long to be surprised by much anymore,” he says, voice rough and oddly resigned for a guy who just got doused with an epic dose of weird aphrodisiac magic shit. Stiles is new to this emissary gig. He’s still learning the proper names for stuff. “If you say we got hit by some kinda spell, I’m inclined to believe you’re not bullshitting me.” 

Stiles can’t help but pause in the act of undressing himself further. “Really. You trust  _me_ not to bullshit you.” Stiles lifts his eyebrows. “Have we met?”

Their eyes meet, and Parrish undoes his belt and plants one knee on the vinyl seat, right between Stiles’s legs. He shoves himself forward so his thigh presses against Stiles’s crotch where his erection comically tents the front of his boxers. Unable to stop himself, Stiles grinds himself down against his leg, whimpering.

They didn’t really talk about this beforehand, not beyond Stiles’s shaky and admittedly rushed rundown of their two options--namely fuck or die--but he can’t help the squeak that escapes him when Parrish closes a hand around his cock through his boxers. 

“You look about as awful as I feel right now,” Parrish tells him. “I don’t know how or why this happened, which I fully expect you to explain to me later in detail, but right now--no, I know you’re not just fucking with me.” 

A large, unrepentant grin splits Stiles’s face. “I’m kind of about to be,” he says. “And if we survive the night, I promise to explain everything my dad thinks he’s doing you a favour by not telling you.”

Parrish nods and climbs the rest of the way inside the car, pulls the door all the way closed with his foot. Their faces are so close together that Stiles tries to lean up to kiss him, hungry for it, but Parrish jerks his chin away.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asks, stilling Stiles’s hands where they’ve managed to snake inside his uniform pants. “If you’re not, we’ll find another way.” He pauses. “Or just die, I guess.”

Stiles nods so vigorously that he almost cracks the back of his skull open on the handle of the opposite door. “Consider this my enthusiastic consent to engage in life-saving sex,” he says, which is not the most romantic thing he’s ever said, but Stiles isn’t too proud to admit he’s been ogling Parrish’s ass since the day he joined the Beacon Hills police force five years ago. “Sure you’re okay fucking your boss’s son?”

“Circumstances notwithstanding? Yeah. Your dad will just have to forgive me.”

As he says it, Kyle simultaneously manages to shove his pants and underwear down with one hand and get Stiles’s dick out with the other. He lowers his weight more fully onto Stiles, and they gasp as their cocks come into contact, both of them hot and painfully hard. Fucking witches.

Stiles doesn’t waste time getting a hand around them both, then pulls Kyle’s head down with his free hand so they can finally kiss. It’s inelegant and messy, but goddamn, it’s good. Even if it’s gonna be over embarrassingly fast.

Kyle is quick to get with the program, bracing his hands on either side of Stiles’s head and thrusting into his fist. The sounds he makes drive Stiles _thisclose_  to jizzing in fucking seconds. Jesus. Fucking--

“Just tell me we can do this again when we’re not out of our minds,” he breaks away to pant, hips driving up in counterpoint. “That’d be good. Awesome, even.”

In answer Parrish leans down to bite his neck, and Stiles  _does_ come at that, so hard he sees spots.

He thinks he can take that as a yes.

Fucking witches, though.


End file.
